


Forgotten Moments

by orphan_account



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Club House, Coming of Age, Dreams, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Foreshadowing, Forgotten Moments, Kinda, Kissing, Losers club - Freeform, M/M, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Not too slow-burn, Pennywise is hanging around, Realistic, Realistic filler, Reddie Centric, Slow Burn, Smut, but - Freeform, don't cry, emotional stuff, eventually, losers - Freeform, or more who knows, pennywise - Freeform, probably, the Barrens, there are ten chapters, there will be sexy time, they’re 17, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-11-23 01:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: or, the one where Richie leaves town without a word to the Losers.three years pass.how will Eddie cope when his ex best friend returns to Derry.chaos will ensue.





	1. He's Back in Derry

**Author's Note:**

> yeet,
> 
> Lemme know if there’s any mistakes or anything that doesn’t make sense, sometimes I need a fresh set of eyes.
> 
> thank.

Eddie hadn’t seen Richie Tozier in three years. The night he left Derry had been the night they made the oath. 

Eddie along with the remaining few of the Losers Club had remained friends. They had remained a club. Even if there were only five of them, they had formed a closer bond, glued together by their shared trauma.

He hadn’t even said goodbye to the Losers Club. Eddie was Richie’s best friend and the trash mouth never even had the balls to say goodbye to him. 

To say Eddie was bitter was an understatement. 

And with his best mate having moved away without a word to tell him where, Eddie changed. He grew closer to Bill, his friendship working like a safety blanket. 

In a desperate attempt to forget about the ache in his chest, he grew to resent everything about himself. He wanted nothing to do with the Eddie Kaspbrak that relied far too heavily on in his ex best friend. He wasn’t a pathetic germaphobe. He wasn’t uptight or over dramatic either. 

At least that’s what he told himself.

Something that took him years to perfect, was eluding his mentally ill mother. He’d known for a while since the sewer incident, that he wasn’t as delicate as his mother had him believe. 

Turns out, Eddie Kasprak was perfectly healthy. His height had been stunted by the amount of unprescribed medicine he’d taken during the years he was supposed to grow, but that was all.

At fifteen he was successfully binning his pills and hanging in the Barrens with the Losers. Without the fear of contracting a life threatening virus of course.

Throwing his school bag down into the Clubs bunker, Eddie slides down the wooden ladder. Hands gripping the splintered sides, he always wore fingerless gloves for that very reason. 

Turning, Eddie races over to the hammock, launching himself into it before Mike or Bill could beat him to it. The pair find themselves at the bottom of the ladder, a scowl made for the younger boy. 

With a devious smirk, Eddie opens up a Batman comic, flicking through the pages. Kicking off his shoes in the process of wriggling around the hammock in attempt to get comfy. 

“You’ve got ten minutes, Kaspbrak, and I mean it!” Mike huffs, feigning dismay, throwing himself into the dusted armchair. 

“Is B-Ben coming-g?” Bill says, eyelashes fluttering with a frown.

“Dunno, said he had to grab a book from the library, he could be ten minutes or an hour,” Mikes says with a smile. 

“Stan’s at the Gogue, right?” Eddie grunts absentmindedly, because the whole word ‘Synagogue,’ was too much of an effort.

Mike hums in response, getting up from the dust lathered armchair, slumping down at his desk instead. It was Mikes more than anything, he and Ben spent the summer two years ago building it.

Bill sits on a carton box that they had fixed with a cushion, a staple in each corner.

“What d-do you guys wan-want to do until Ben get’s- here?” Bill suffers, glumly shrugging off his backpack. His stutter had gotten better over the past three years, it only ever got really bad when he was nervous. But as time grew nearer, Bill got exceedingly worse. It was nearing the date that Georgie was taken-or rather, **murdered** is the right word. 

Bill always thought too much and never voiced any of what he was thinking around these anniversaries. 

Eddie jumped up from the hammock, crouching in front of Bill.

“You can speak to us Bill, we’ll listen, I swear we will,” he says nicely, eyes unmoving from Bills oceanic orbs. Eddie had decided that Bill was quite sweet looking, he’d had a crush back before the Losers became a club.

A crush that was most definitely wiped clean after the summer of 89’ he was a brother more than anything now.

Bill had grown into his looks, a sharpened jaw, high and prominent cheekbones and soft eyes. He still looked so sweet, only he was a head taller than Eddie now. Eddie decided that being short sucked major ass. Only the Losers could rip him a new one about his height and get away with it. 

Eddie hardly let anyone close enough to get chummy with him, not that many had tried, he was a loser after all. He didn’t make friends as easily as he used to, not since two clowns vanished from Derry. 

Bills gives him a sad smile, eyes prickled with tears, “Thanks Eddie, I know.”

“You guys always have my back,” He says with a warmer smile.

There’s a small silence, pregnant and comfortable, nothing ever seemed to be awkward between the Losers.

After a few moments, Bill smirks before throwing himself up and into the hammock. Before Eddie knows what’s happening, the brunette boy is sat proudly in the hammock with an X-men comic.

“Arsewipe!” Eddie growls, falling onto the moth bitten rug belly first. It was Bevs parting gift with the club before she left Derry. She’d found a hippie looking rug, among other trinkets, in a flea market that Derry holds once a year.

Bill chuckles into his comic, Mike too invested in his sketches. 

He’d taken to drawing his nightmares. Ranging from vibrant depictions of vicious clowns to crispy hands clawing after a small boy from behind an iron door chained shut. They were gruesome and creepy but Mike usually kept them to himself unless they were unusually unusual.

There were many superhero sketches taped to the wall of the bunker, and one crudely drawn image of a boy standing behind Eddies mother. 

Eddie shuddered at the image. It was signed with an ‘RT,’ Eddie sighs, a frown fixed on his face. Eyes moving to the only framed image that's leant against the wall on Mikes sketch desk. It was a picture of all of them, all seven of the Losers. Only there was an ‘X’ over one boys head, the black washi tape concealing his identity. 

Eddie eyed the picture, scuffling about on the floor so he couldn’t see that wall anymore. 

“What are you drawing now, Mike?” Eddie asks in a faraway tone, trying to find the page he lost in his comic.

“Um, I had a strange dream last night, can’t shake it either,” Mike says cryptically.

“That didn’t really answer my question,” Eddie smirks at Bill, who smiles back. 

“I’m- just look,” Mike says holding up his paper for the boys to inspect. Eddie sits up, inching closer.

It’s a pair of dark square glasses, lying at the bottom of a murkily sketched pond, maybe? 

There’s a crack in the top left lens, and what looks like blood in the cracks. It’s coloured in well enough to tell that it’s blood and water at least. 

Something dawns on Bill and Eddies features.

Only Bill is brave enough to say something about the recognition.

“Are those, th-they look l-like Rich-Richies,” he stutters confusedly.

“That’s why I had to draw it,” Mike says with a crease in between his brows.

Something like dread blooms in Eddies stomach, goose flesh on his arms, hair on the back of his neck standing. The same fear that came with the monster that lurked underneath their feet just three years ago, rears it’s ugly head once more. It was the kind of fear he hadn’t felt since that day, the same day that Richie left. Potent and met with the same kind of disasters they faced back then.

He hated it. That feeling. That monster. That damn boy. 

Eddie grit his teeth before pulling on his trainers, slamming his book down on the crate and standing. Before either Mike or Bill could say anything, Eddie had pulled on his backpack and stomped towards the fragile looking ladder.

He couldn’t even reach out towards the ladder, the hatch had swung open. A large looking boy practically missing the ladder in a hurry. He all but fell into the bunker, back end first. 

“Ben! Are you okay?” Bill says moving over to the boy, grabbing hold of the boys arm. Eddie drops his bag, crouching next to the sweaty and red faced boy that fell into a heap on the floor. 

Mike forgets the sketch and joins the two boys crowded around Ben.

“I-I tried to get h-here as fast as I could but-“ Ben pants, still red in the face.

“What is it Ben?” Mike says urgently, it has to be important to say Ben had fell through the roof of the bunker.

“It’s Richie,” he heaves.

A sharp jab of fear is impaled through Eddies chest and sides. He pales considerably, steadily falling back onto his ass. Both Mike and Bill had frozen in shock, this was all too coincidental.

“He’s back in Derry, I saw him,” Ben says, confirmation that nothing detrimental has happened, yet. 

Some fear washes away from Eddie, but a remaining lump of dread sits in his lap. Then a more favourable feeling of anger simmers underneath his skin.

Bill and Mike exchange a worrisome glance before Bill decided to move over to Eddies side.

“Eddie, h-he probably-“

“Don’t!” Eddie cuts him off, pushing his hand away.

“Don’t make up some bullshit excuse for him, that’s not fucking fair!” He yells, getting up from his spot and pulling himself up the ladder in two graceful steps, slamming the hatch on his exit.

Once he’s under the darkening sky he pulls his bag onto his shoulders and lifts up the handle of his bike, soil and dead leaves falling away from it.

Throwing a leg over the bike, Eddie flicks on his headlight. Peddling hard to reach a familiar house at the end of Witchcam. It doesn't take him long before he's out of the thicket of The Barrens, tyres hitting the smooth pavement. He bikes faster than he ever has before.

There’s no way.

There’s a moving van in the drive way and the for sale sign has been uprooted from it’s spot in the lawn. The windows are clear of newspaper and there’s a fresh paint of coat on the previously paint peeled door. An unnerving red door now stands.

Eddie bites his lip, teeth still clenched tightly. kicking off from the floor, he peddles his way home.

-

When the morning finally arrives, the sun hidden behind a cloak of clouds, Eddie decides he’d rather get ready for school now. What’s the point in wallowing in self pity?

Eddie decides on a pair of tight fit black drainpipes and grey converse. A black Areosmith band tee and a grey cross hatch button up, left open of course. He rolls up his sleeves and mouses his hair before deciding on his black backpack. If there was any chance he would see Richie today, he didn’t want to look like a dork. If anyone was going to look daft, it would be Richie.

The previous night was sleepless, dark smudges evidence under Eddies eyes. 

On his way out, he’s stopped by his doorway sized mother. 

“Eddie-bear, don’t forget your belt bag!” 

Taking the fanny pack from his mother, he tosses it into his bag.

“Sure,” He says monotonously.

Attempting to move around her, he’s stopped.

“You’re forgetting something,” she says sternly, an unforgiving look in her eyes.

Eddie leans up and plants a fast kiss on her cheek, inwardly shivering.

“Goodbye, mom,” he says with half a smile. 

She shows him a toothy smile and moves into the kitchen.

“Have a good day Eddie-bear!”

Eddie climbs his bike and pushes off of the ground, pedalling fast with his bum off the seat. That’s the way his mom hated him riding, so naturally he always rode like that. The morning is dark, gloomy and quiet in Derry. 

Eddie pulls on his headphones, letting his Walkman play. If anyone asked, he wasn’t listening to I Wanna Sex You Up by Color Me Badd.

Lies.

Checking his watch, Eddie knows he’ll be the first of the Losers to get to Derry High. Still on his bike he takes his pill holder from his fanny pack and shoves it in his back pocket, pedalling at a steady pace to do so. When he’s finished, he speeds up to reach the prison-esque looking school.

Derry High looms, as if it has its own personal atmosphere, a dark cloud sitting above the grey painted school. 

There are hardly any kids around, one or two groups gathering, very little of them milling around the courtyard. 

Dismounting his bike and locking it in the rack, Eddie heads over to the black bin next to the Losers usual spot. Pulling the pill counter from his back pocket, he empties the lot of pills into the bin. Throwing the fanny pack and pill holder into his bag, gone and forgotten for the day. 

With a sigh he slumps against the wall, fixing his wavy curls as his eyes flicker from each student. 

Bills the first to arrive, timidly walking towards him. His hair is straight and neatly cut, wearing his usual open button up and tee. Eddie fulls off his headphones and tucks his CD player in his backpack. No one needed to know about his embarrassing music choice.

“Eddie I-I-“

Eddie stops him, putting a hand over his mouth.

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I know I can be a dick when it comes to that jerkoff but I shouldn’t take it out on the guys that stuck around,” Eddie rushes out, eyes heartfelt and sorry.

Something wet touches his palm.

Eddie shrieks, hands recoiling from the taller boy.

“Bill gross, I’m not entirely over the germ thing yano,” Eddie says panicky, rubbing his hand on Bills arm as his penance.

Bill cackles, “Hah, you’ll live, I promise.” 

Eddie mutters something about promises that don’t mean shit, but Mike is already ruffling his hair.

“Gerroff’ you big oaf,” Eddie yells, pushing Mikes arm away.

“Guess you’ve stopped sulking about your boyf-“ before he can finish that sentence Eddie punches his arm.

“Finish that and I’ll throw my bike at your head,” he threatens him, barring his grit teeth.

Mike throws his hands up, backing away with a laugh in his throat, Bill sniggering along side.

“Sure, if you can m-manage to pick u-up your bi-bike,” Bill stutters in between laughter.

Eddie sends him a glower, pulling his arm up to inspect his bicep. 

Flexing, Eddie grins, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Bill, I’m ripped.”

Bill doubles over, Mike grinning like a Cheshire cat, “Oh, you’re ripped alright.”

Mike says wrapping his hand nearly all the way around Eddies arm, a taunting look on his face. Eddie pouts up at the taller boy, always taller than Eddie.

Mike is handsome, his puppy fat having disappeared, his cheekbones and jaw line more noticeable. He’s been accepted into Derry High and even their own Soccer Team, he was a Centre-back, a brilliant defender. That along with working at his family farm after school and on weekends, he became the groups beefcake. Eddie would swoon if it was anyone else, but there was too much history there to develop a crush. That and Mike was probably straight. Like most in Derry. 

Ben and Stan show up together, promptly locking up their bikes and heading towards the three.

“Did someone die, Eddie?” Stan says gesturing to his dark outfit and the cartoonish pout on his face.

“Yes, actually, my tolerance for you guys,” Eddie scowls at the four of them with a smirk. The group erupt with laughter, something that has been somewhat difficult to achieve without his ex best-friend steering the mast.

At least, for a while. Eddie found himself in Richie’s absence, using wit, sarcasm and an unyielding amount of sass. Except Eddie pretended that last one didn’t exist.

Eddie sighs as the Losers converse, too lost in his own thoughts to add anything to their chatter. 

Pulling him from a dark and lonely place, the bell rang out. Bill throws his arm over Eddies shoulders, the group walking together through the schools doorway. The hallway is rowdy and quiet all at the same time, Eddie can’t help but feel alert and cautious, scanning the crowd before him. Clowns tend to find a way to pop up at the most unconventional moments, according to the past patterns he’s familiar with at least. 

When they reach their class and find their seats it still feels the same. Only now there’s an empty seat in front of him, the name ‘Tozier’ laminated onto the desk. 

Of fucking course there is.

Eddie sucks in a breath. Too afraid to sit down and too afraid to turn and leave. 

Lowering himself into his seat with a growing feeling of nausea, Eddie sets his chin in his hand and stares out of the window. Distraction is key when it comes to not looking like a hopeless fool. 

That’s it, don’t even bat an eyelash at him, Eddie , comes the supportive voice in his head.

The class had finally begun to settle down and Eddie still refused to look anywhere but the window.

The class door burst open once more, every head but Eddies turning to look to the disturbance.

“Ah! Mister Tozier, you’re late on your first day back, not surprising at all, sit down.” Mr,Clarkson says bitterly, he certainly remembers the cocky boy.

Eddie holds his breath, trying to look as bored as possible. He wanted nothing to do with him, didn’t even want to see his face. Yet, so badly, he wanted to see what Richie had become without him.

The boy didn’t even make a comedic retort at all, only shuffled down the isle of desks. 

Chair legs scrape against the floor and Tozier drops into his chair, slumped with his arms crossed.

Finally Eddie deems It safe enough to cast a quick glance at the boy in front of him.

He’s definitely taller than Eddie, probably taller than Bill even. His shoulders are broad but his hair is still dark as ever, falling in waves and meeting his shoulders. 

Eddie tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He can feel tears prickling their way free, blinking rapidly to shake them off.

Burning holes into the back of Toziers head wasn’t doing him justice. He wanted him to know just how much his feelings had been hurt when he left, especially after the moments they’d shared over that summer. Hell, even Bev stayed in touch, a phone call a month was polite enough.

It got easier to ignore the elephant in the room, Eddie took to making brief class notes and doodling phantom clowns from previous nightmares. As much as he resented that summer, it did nothing but come back in waves. Especially when the sole reason you had to live was sat in front of you. Eddie scowls at his pencil like it was the reason why any of this had happened.

Almost as if he’d blacked out, the bell rings and it’s time to head to the cafeteria for break. There’s fifteen minutes between each period, they usually spent theirs talking utter shit in the cafeteria, nothing had changed in Derry.

Eddie slams his notebook closed and tears open his bag, shoving it in and zipping the bag back up. Shrugging it on, Eddie turns to Bill.

“Yo, string bean, lets go find our trashy entourage,” Eddie gripes, slapping Bills apparently hard bicep. Damn string bean is beefing up, Eddie knew he was filling out but he didn’t know how much. 

The sea of students disperse, a specific raven haired boy sitting like a Greek statue, unmoving. The two Losers hastily exit, wanting more than anything to avoid being alone with an ex counterpart. 

Mike, Ben and Stan have already claimed the infamous ‘Losers table.’ Eddie groans as he crumples into his seat next to Stan, arms around the other boys neck. Stans curls are short this year, fluffy and light brown. He's kept a thin stature, he was smaller than Bill, and pastier than ever. 

“Oh Stanley the Manley, tell me it’s over already!” Eddie cries out, eyes clenched shut in faux pain.

“It’s not, will it ever be?” Stanley says almost bordering on tears. Fake or not the boy looks like he won’t last a minute longer. 

The group laugh at the pair, their misery a common joke.

“How was Math, I heard Richie was in there?” Mike says gravelly, eyes not really daring to meet Eddies, the question aimed at Bill. 

Eddie stares at the cafeteria door, half expecting the lanky boy to stride in, he doesn't. His stare was harsh and agitated, lips forming a hard line. 

“It was okay, he didn’t say anything at all, but he was late so, I guess not much has changed,” came Bills soft reply. 

Eddie is thrown from his locked stare.

“Everything has changed Bill, he isn’t Richie, he’s Tozier, we don’t know him as far as I care to tell,” Eddie bites his lip. 

“I agree actually, he said fuck all to us about leaving, he could’ve picked up the phone,” Ben had piped up. 

To Eddie, it felt like they were talking about a prohibited topic. This whole day felt off from the moment he opened his sleep deprived eyes.

Why in the hell did he have to come back to Derry?

The doors to the cafeteria swing open, a lone boy walking into the slightly run down hall. Tall, so effin’ tall, with all that dark hair and pale skin. 

Eddie didn’t want to look.

But he did.

His hair is in roused waves over his dark brown eyes, intense but nervous. Sharp and squared jaw, high cheekbones and a smatter of pretty freckles on those pale cheeks. His nose is straight and defined, bus his lips steal his gaze. They’re so big and plush for a boy, pink and bitten. 

Eddie tugs on Bills denim jacket, eyes flickering between the pair. Understanding the que, Bill tentatively throws a glance over his shoulder. 

Tozier is wearing a soft looking maroon jumper, sleeves rolled up. Tight black drainpipes and big black combat boots, his bag slung over his shoulder.

Eddies tongue runs over his bitten bottom lip, a guilty blush on his cheeks. He can’t help it, mans gotta eat. 

The group try to watch the lankier than ever boy discreetly. Of course the dark haired boy makes eye contact with the hushed group that watch him closely. A brief look of recognition washing over his features. He begins towards them.

“Shit, shit, double shit,” Eddie says taking a hand to his forehead. 

Standing before them, the boy smiles meekly. Everything about this Richie look alike screams anything but Richie Tozier. Richie was never meek, nor did he ever act outwardly nervous. 

Eddie wanted to smack his own head off of the table, maybe give himself a concussion. That would be nice.

“Hi, I dunno if you guys remember me, but I think we used to be friends back when I used to live here.” The Richie impersonator says, scratching the back of his head. His voice is raspy and silky, a slow drizzle of words.

The group stare at him, in shock and a heavy blanket of confusion. 

Eddie is reeling, his hatred and anger swelling in his chest. His gaze piercing the foreign and familiar face. Ice cold. His entire body freezes over, his eyes wide but unseeing. He can’t. He clenches his teeth, grinding them. Dread, fear, nervousness, hatred, and anger all brewing in the centre of his abdomen.

“Um, well y-yeah, w-we used t-t-to be best friends, y-you prick,” Bill stutters helplessly, a trace of hostility and anger lacing his broken language.

“Stuttering Bill! Big Bill? Billy Boy! I remember! I- God I can’t believe I had forgotten, we really were friends then?” Richie says dropping his bag at his feet, hands on the table, peering into each confused face.

“Mate, this was only three years ago, did you get hit by a car or something?” Mike says sternly, fingers playing with his water bottle.

“Sorry-I just -It’s so foggy, it’s all coming back to me, homeschool,” he jests, a lopsided grin on his face. 

Richie’s mirth filled eyes find Eddies which hold nothing but an unforgiving anger. Instantly, like a slap to the face, Richie’s eyes are wide and unblinking.

“You,” He says breathlessly, accusingly.

Eddie tilts his head, his anger seems to fill the space. How dare he even look or speak to him, doesn’t he know what he’s done?

“I didn’t think it was possible to forget you,” Richie says, a mysterious and forlorn look of sadness overtaking his features.

Eddie slams his hand on the table, standing from his seat, the entire table staring at him.

“Screw off Tozier, we don’t have time for clowns in Derry, not any more,” His voice had never been so low and bitter before, trying hard not to let it tremble.

The table of Losers stills, a few tables around them turn their heads to view the disturbance, not much happens in Derry.

“Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says as the smaller boy comes to stand in front of him, a warm smile on his pretty lips. Eddies heart is hit with a painful jab, this was an evil game that Tozier was playing.

That soft smile morphs into something devious, Eddies stomach doing flips. 

“Did I used to bang your mom?” He says with a wicked grin. Stan snorts awkwardly behind his hand, in shock at the balls that Tozier seems to have grown. Or maybe Tozier has a death wish, who knew?

“Fuck off! You-y-you unbearable trash mouth,” Eddie stands nearly chest to chest with Richie now, glacial frown on his features.

“I thought you quite enjoyed what my mouth could do back then?” He says it with a shit eating grin, one that only feeds the fire in Eddies chest.

His words hit Eddie like a gust of wind, knocking the air from his lungs.

The table now sit deathly silent and afraid to move.

Eddie struggles to breath, he finds the will to avoid using his inhaler, sucking in a sharp breath instead. Yes, he still carried his inhaler, for those ‘just in-case,’ moments.

“Stay the fuck outta’ my way, Tozier,” he says bitterly, shoving the boys shoulder as he leaves. Storming down the hallway and throwing the school doors open. Eddie can hear the sound of another following him outside the building. Panting as they try to catch up.

Once outside, Eddie turns to face someone who’s hopefully not Richie.

It’s Bill, standing with a worrisome and handsome face.

“I can’t do it, Bill,” Eddie says, voice breaking, tears threaten to spill over his beet red cheeks.

“I know, C’mere,” Bill pulls the smaller boy to his chest. There are hardly any students hanging about outside the school, only the smokers who’re trying to stay hidden from teachers.

Eddie lets out a broken sob, tears dampening Bills shirt, but Bill doesn’t care. This boy, like the others, always stood by Bill no matter what. It was his turn to finally give back to the most treasured friends he’s ever really had.

Hugging Eddie to his chest he says, “May-maybe we shuh-should skip school today? Stan-n can write us th-the notes.” Stanley Uris had beautiful writing, it was one of the only reasons people would call him a ‘Fag,’ or a ‘Puff.’ It seems silly to anyone who isn’t a closed minded or a child, but children and teenagers alike were vicious with the tiniest of things. 

“Okay,” Eddie sighs softly into Bills warm cottoned chest, finally releasing him. His face is spotty with redness, eyes swollen sore. Bill gives him a soft smile.

“I’ll go get our st-stuff, don’t move,” Bill says nearly free of a stutter.

Eddie watches as Bill disappears, sitting on the last concrete step of Derry High. Running a hand over his tear stained cheeks, Eddie fixes his hair and the collar of his button up. Letting out a sigh, he finds himself lost in thought.

The more Richie ‘remembered,’ the more he acted a little more like himself. Was he kidding them? Was this a way to force the group to forgive him so soon? 

Eddie didn’t know, but if he knew Richie at all, he knew the boy was neither a liar nor was he manipulative.

Eddie slumps, his bag is dropped into the spot next to him on the stairs.

“C’mon, Stans got us cuh-covered, wanna ch-chill at the-the club house?” Bill says, gulping down his fragmented words every so often. Eddie smiles at him, pulling his bag on and standing.

“Hi-yo Silver?” Eddie asked, as if it were code for something no one but the Losers could understand. And no one could.

“Hi-yo Silver,” Bill confirmed with full and warm smile, the pair marching off towards their bikes as if they were set on a mission.

In some ways, they were.


	2. The Perfect Night to go Trespassing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the good old switcheroo, we follow Richie in this one.
> 
> -nat

  
He’d left quickly after Eddie and Bill took off, insisting he felt faint to Derry Highs nurse. Soon after, he’s ditching his bike on his tidy lawn, racing up to the shiny red door. Pulling his keys from his pocket he lets himself in and sets the keys in the bowl.  
  
Hurriedly, Richie races up to his bedroom, slamming his door behind him.  
  
He pulls out a shoe box from underneath his bed, it’s decorated haphazardly, graffiti type names and doodles all over the lid.  
  
Inside, there’s a few comic books, old crumpled photographs, folded notes and arcade tokens. There are more obscure and random trinkets in the mix, many of them coming from his time after Derry.  
  
Rifling through, Richie pulls out a few folded sheets of yellowing paper.  
  
On one of the notes;  
  
_Trashmouth,_  
  
  
_Meet at our spot after class?_  
  
  
_<strike>Ed’s,</strike> Eddie_  
  
The note is penned in a very childish chicken scratch, harshly crossing out the misspelling of his own name. Frown between his charcoal eyes, Richie picks up a different note. This one is crumpled a thousand times over, a few droplets of water damaging the neater handwriting.  
  
It reads;  
  
_Rich,_  
  
_This past summer made me realise a few things._  
  
_One, being that I like living enough not to go near another clown of any kind._  
  
_Two, I’d do anything to shut that trashmouth of yours. Anything._  
  
_Three, I don’t hate it when you call me Ed’s._  
  
  
  
Gripping the crumpled note, tears beading in his eyes, Richie stares down at the penmanship. The clarity that washes over him slumps his shoulders, leaning back against the wall.  
  
So it’s true? The clown that’s been taunting him in his dreams, he was…real? But the memories he had, how could he take the shape of Eddie like that? Richie’s mind was racing, eyes wide and searching.  
  
Dropping the notes and lidding the shoebox, Richie kicks the box under his bed. Running his fingers through his hair, tugging and fisting at the raven hair, Richie knows where he has to go. It was a safe bet he’d get himself into trouble, but Richie had no intention to forget five of the greatest friends he’s ever had. He couldn’t let it happen. There was something about that summer that seemed as though it had been erased, now all he can see is a soft outline, barley anything but the ghost of letters remain.  
  
Screwing his eyes shut, Richie flops onto his bed, a strangled sigh escaping his lips.  
  
Figuring that if he slept on it, the problem would fix itself.  
  
He was wrong. So very wrong. The nightmares continued to pour into reality, new memories tainted with such things that couldn’t exist.  
  
Shouldn’t exist.

-

_ _

_The clubhouse, a hammock, a soft looking boy climbing into the already occupied seat. He’s loud and bright, his skin a honeyed tan, freckles dark on his nose and cheeks._  
  
_ He knows he’s supposed to be annoyed at the smaller boy for forcing his weight into the hammock, but he can’t. That winning grin he earns from the boy makes his stomach flutter._  
  
_ Richie frowns, bottom lip jutting out. The boys legs are splayed out at either side of Richie, his own tucked underneath them._  
  
_ Eyes falling back down to the comic, he forces his attention on the speech bubbles. There’s two thuds as Eddies shoes fall from his feet, his sock clad foot finding its way back inside the hammock._  
  
_ Tentatively, the small foot traces the side of Richie’s face, pulling the thick rimmed glasses from the bridge of his nose. They fall with an unhappy thwack, Richie grows irate because now he can’t see much of anything._  
  
_ The foot pats the side of Richie’s face, falling behind him afterwards. Eddie pulls the comic from the dazed boys hands, flicking to the front absently._  
  
_ “Do you know how much of a giant pulsating cock you are?” Richie says, frown fraying as the pixie looking kid turns his attention towards him. His eyes are deep, dark and shining. Hair falling in soft caramelised waves, eyelashes long, fanning on his cheeks._  
  
_ Richie suppresses his blush, gulping it down with his unwanted feelings._  
  
_ “Talking about my cock AGAIN, are we Rich?” The boy says proudly, like he didn’t realise he had it in him._  
  
_ Richie figures that now is the time to attack. Slowly and carefully, Richie places a hand on either side of the hammock. Eddies line of sight hidden by the comic. If you asked any one of the Losers, they’d agree that letting Richie out of your sight was your own sorry mistake._  
  
_ “Earthquake!!!” Richie shouts, swinging the hammock from side to side quickly and without mercy._  
  
_ Eddie screams, almost like a young girl seeing a spider for the first time. Richie laughs, cheeks red with it._  
  
_ “Richie please!” Eddie yells, holding the sides of the hammock with a death grip._  
  
_ “What’s that baby? Want me to go faster?”_  
  
_ Richie smirks, swinging the hammock in the most dizzying way. The older boy wails, holding the sides as if he’d die otherwise._  
  
_ “Richie!”_  
  
_ “Oh yeah, say my name Eddie-kins!” Richie moans, but before he can say anything else, he’s got an arm full of boy._  
  
_ He lays there stunned, Eddie laying stiff in his arms, stomach heaving._  
  
_ Relaxing into his arms, Eddie tucks himself under Richie’s left armpit._  
  
_ “Of course throwing myself at you would shut your trash mouth,” the boy sighs, cheek pressed against Richie’s chest._  
  
_ Richie is stunned for a moment, not many people could render Richie Tozier speechless._  
  
_ “How did you know my kryptonite is an armful of spaghetti?” Richie sighs, wrapping his arm around the small boy._  
  
_ The soft looking lump in his arms grunts, face turned away from Richie’s._  
  
_ Moments pass, the two of them fixed in that position, calm and quiet. Richie watches Eddies eyelashes flutter, dusting his pinked cheeks. A sight for sore eyes, and it was Richie’s favourite._  
  
_ “I know your secret,” comes a soft and sleepy voice on his chest._  
  
_ Richie snaps away from his wonder struck gaze, pulled from his pipe dream. _  
  
_ “What?” He says with a frown, trying to get a better look at the boys face._  
  
_ “I know you’re secret, your dirty little secret,” sings the boy softly, voice tired and bored._  
  
_ “What the fuck, Eddie?” Richie says, shaking the smaller boy in his arms._  
  
_ Richie suddenly feels the goosebumps rise on his skin, hair on the back of his neck standing. The air in the club house shifts, Richie’s blood running ice cold._  
  
_ Eddie turns to face him, but his face is painted shock white, ruby red lips forming a taunting grin. What was once Eddie is now, something else. Eyes wildly blue, half lidded and twinkling with mirth. Those razor sharp teeth yellowed and dripping with saliva._  
  
_ “Fag boy!” The thing yells, a comically clownish laughter erupting from its throat. Richie yells, arms flailing, struggling to escape the almost cocoon like hammock._  
  
Startled awake Richie sits bolt upright, sweat sticking his fringe to his forehead. Chest heaving, sweat glistening his shirtless form, Richie finds his lamp switch quickly.  
  
These warped memories come back in floods, at least for the few nights he’s been back in Derry. He’d always awoken to broken dreams, ones that held nightmarish scenarios and of course, the clown.  
  
All of the dreams started out as what appeared to be genuine and forgotten memories, then they’d begun to slip into madness and clown paint clad monsters.  
  
This boy, the one that would make his belly ache with laughter, lots of memories strung back to him. He never knew he’d been deprived of so many tender and life altering moments.  
  
From their time in the hammock to days spent lazing by the canyon with ice creams and a boom box. Back when their banter would borderline flirting shamelessly.  
  
When Richie finally caught sight of the boy trapped in his dreams, the flood gates were opened. It was sensory overload, so many clips of tainted memories washing over him. The emotions he felt and the phantom touches he’d experienced once before, all with him in seconds. How is it possible to forget so much? Why is his sleepless nights riddled with clowns and shameful secrets?  
  
After Eddies outburst, Richie had come to the conclusion that he had to get to the bottom of this. That painstaking awkwardness that each kid at the table sat in, the white hot fury the small boy unleashed on him.  
  
Something happened, what happened to them? To all of them?  
  
These friends he’d only just remembered having, the pain and guilt of loosing them suffocating him. Squeezing, talons deep in the flesh of his heart, piercing the fragile organ. He hated himself for leaving, but why?  
  
Sitting there, head in his hands, Richie recounts the memory. It had been one of his favourites, probably ever. Yet he’d only remembered it this morning. Now it had been destroyed by something he still didn’t understand.  
  
He sighs, tearing the bed sheets from his sweaty chest, swinging his legs from the bed. His muscles are taut and tense, flinching at every sudden sound.  
  
It had been roughly a week since his meeting with, what he can remember of, the Losers Club. He’d taken to sitting out back of Derry High, smoking and eating alone. Sad and lonely, sure, but he didn’t need the company right now. Not that the company wanted him either, but he felt off.  
  
His last run in with Eddie had been his second one, he’d been in line at the cafeteria. Richie came to stand behind him, Eddie with a few things already on his tray. Looking up to lock eyes with Richie, he strode off as quickly as Richie could make a mom joke.  
  
Richie had forced himself to stay out of his way, at least for now. He wanted to figure this out before he came running back to embarrass himself. Richie wanted to be laughed with, not at.  
  
Pulling on a white tee and a Hawaiian button up, he rolls up the shoulders and leaves it unbuttoned. He pairs it with some soft khaki shorts and a pair of worn converse in black. Ready, he combs his hair with his fingers, ditching his contacts and picking up the thick rimmed glasses. Oh boy, if anyone says a word about them he’ll fight. There’s a plaster and some scotch tape over the bridge, a memoir from many of Richie’s ‘fights.’  
  
Scooping up his backpack, Richie heads out. He’s earlier than he usually is, he wanted to scope out the area and have a quick cig before class. It’s a Wednesday, the perfect night to go trespassing.  
  
He bikes there lazily, one hand on the handle bar and the other fishing in his pocket for a lighter. The cigarette caught in his lip, twitching as he grimaces, reaching into his back pocket for the light.  
  
Nearing Derry high, Richie pulls himself from the bike, walking it over towards the bike rack and locking it with little attention.  
  
With a hand shielding his cig, he lights it, inhaling the sweet, sweet intoxicating smoke.  
  
Resting against the wall, Richie’s stood next to a black dumpster.  
  
‘Guess I’m home,’ he thinks, smiling crookedly at his own lonely joke. Scanning the dumpster briefly, he notices that there are many initials engraved on it. One in particular catches his eye.  
  
‘R T + S K.’  
  
Immediately, he can hear him. It’s faint and forgotten, but in it he can hear the warmth and feel the phantom fingertips on his arm.  
  
_“Rich, no, what are you doing?” Comes the anguish, fingertips tingling on his bicep._  
  
_ “Someone’ll see,” the boy says concernedly, Richie knows it’s Eddie. Before he can turn away and shake the memory, he can see it before him, as if it were a hazy day only a week ago._  
  
_ Richie’s hard at work, carving away like a whittler._  
  
_ ‘R T +.’_  
  
_ “Richie, people might think-“_  
  
_ “What that I’m bangin’ your mom?” The smaller boys hands squeeze around his arm._  
  
_ “That’s what I want em’ to believe ol’ chap,” Richie says proudly, finishing his carving._  
  
_ ‘R T + S K,’ Richie brushes off the plastic shavings._  
  
_ “Me an yeh mom go way back yuh see,” he says in some kind of accent that sounds vaguely British._  
  
_ He turns to the shorty, he’s wearing the sweetest frown. Richie snuffs out the need to kiss his face all over. His cheeks burn, the guilt and turmoil spreading in his abdomen._  
  
_ “You are disgusting,” Eddie says, frown deepening, he’s moved closer to the raven haired one to whisper this._  
  
_ He’s nervously near Richie for his own liking. So close that Richie can smell the peppermint toothpaste he used this morning._  
__  
The memory fades, Richie’s forehead throbbing, a searing heat branding him. Clutching his head, cig between his fingertips, he grunts at the pain.  
  
He flicks the fag from his fingertips, squashing the embers with his heel on his way into Derry High.  
  
After a short while the halls begin to fill, students filing their way into the hallway like ants lining up to lumber their findings away. Richie stays hidden, back beginning to ache against the grate of the locker.  
  
Immediately when Eddie blurs past him, his eyes are permanent. Eddie quickly finds his locker in the sea of teens, throwing a familiar fanny pack and a few books into it, slamming it shut when he’s done.  
  
Richie knew it was fairly nice out for a day in Derry, but he didn’t know it was nice enough to wear a red pair of short shorts. He had to stop himself from letting his mouth drop open, they were… quite tight. He wore it with a warm yellow polo, and he looked soft… so soft… like home.  
  
He was barely paying attention when a tall and stocky looking boy had forced himself in Eddies face. Shoving the smaller boy against the locker and pulling him close with a handful of his shirt.  
  
Richie hadn’t even made a cohesive thought before he found himself striding through the army of students.  
  
“Oi, fuckface!” He shouts, gaining the attention of both Eddie and his wormy bully. He lands a strong and solid punch square in the boys weasel looking face.  
  
The boy drops his hold on Eddie, hand clutching his gushing nose. Cracking his knuckles, Richie turns to look at the petite teen. Eddies staring up at him with a look of awe and shock.

With his attention deterred, the stocky boy with a bent and broken looking nose, gets into action

“Awe, come to protect your fag boyfriend?” The teen spits at the pair. His fist collides with the side of Richie’s face, his glasses sent flying.  
  
Richie felt pain in his cheek, his lip felt as though it would explode, mouth full with a metallic liquor.  
  
He snapped out of his daze, Richie finds it to strike him back, using the muscle he’d made over the previous years. He put all his strength behind one stunning blow, a prompt snap busting his lip and definitely his nose.  
  
The boy staggers backwards, landing with a heavy thwack. His face is bloodied and bent, his chest still rising and falling evenly.  
  
The animalistic veil is lifted from Richie, the fog clearing up. He looks around, students circling the scene, hushed whispers and gasps of terror from students that are just now joining. The circle parts, a tall and silver haired man, the principal, comes to stand in the clearing. The boy whimpering awake at his feet.  
  
“Tozier, the hell are you playing at?! You’ve hardly been here a week,” The principal growls, some teachers from the onlooking crowd kneel down at the side of the gurgling boy, head rolling on his shoulders.  
  
The principal looks towards Eddie, the only other person standing inside the circle.  
  
“Kaspbrak,” He says accusingly, looking back at Richie’s busted lip, blood dripping from his chin.  
  
“See to it that Tozier is seen to, then I want you to send him to my office,” he says with a grimace, this morning had already shaped up to be a pile of shit for him.  
  
“Now clear off the lot of you!” He shouts angrily, storming away from the scene. The circle of gawping students disband, the bell trilling to signify that lessons are about to begin.  
  
Richie feels a tug on his shirt, Eddies already leading the way to the men’s restroom. Following him in, Richie notes that the room is painted blue, white tiles in front of the sink, just below the oval mirrors. Eddie pushes himself up onto the counter, turning to run a tissue under the sink behind him.  
  
Richie stands there, dumbfounded.  
  
“Come here then,” Eddie says sternly, his face void of any emotion.  
  
Moving towards the boy, he stands between his legs, mindful to keep his distance.  
  
Eddie is a head smaller than him, even considering that he’s sat on the counter. Richie flinches when he reaches up to take his chin in his hand, pulling his face closer.  
  
Richie’s cheeks are aflame, he’s trying desperately to look anywhere but Eddies soft brown eyes.  
  
“You’re an idiot,” he says stoically, swabbing at the blood on his chin. It’s easy to mop up because it hasn’t had time to dry.  
  
“I- w-what?” Richie stutters, eyes meeting Eddies.  
  
“You’re.An.Idiot,” He says, dabbing Richie’s cut lip with each word. Richie hisses, hands aiming to grip the sides of the counter. Instead, his hands are clutching the sides of Eddies bare thighs, his skin warm and supple.  
  
Eddie gasps and Richie’s hands leave his skin as if he’d been burnt.  
  
“Sorry,” He says quietly, folding his arms in on himself, eyes downcast.  
  
Eddie resumes his job, replacing the bloodied tissue with a new one. He dabs gently, collecting the remaining bits of blood. A sheet of silence falls upon the pair.  
  
Richie lets his eyes fall on the boy, he’s concentrated, eyes fixed in his own bottom lip. He stares for a while, without realising his own hand had come up to cradle the smaller boys chin.  
  
Eddie stills, dropping his hand and staring up at the lanky mess. His hair is wild and tousled, his lip swollen and clean.  
  
Richie lets the pad of his thumb run along Eddies bottom lip. His lips have always been plush, his bottom lip thicker than the top one. Richie can’t help but stare at it, longing to taste it.

  
After a moment, Eddie is pulled from his state. He clears his throat, sighing when Richie’s hand falls to his side.

  
“It’s all clean,” he says softly.

  
“Thanks,” Richie smiles, only slightly, but it’s there. 

He’s about to step away when Eddie grabs his wrist, forcing him to stand still. From his short pockets, Eddie pulls out a pair of folded glasses that look familiar. Blurry yet familiar.

As he unfolds them, it strikes Richie that it’s his own battered pair. Eddie reaches up to slide them onto his face. He brushes the black waves from Richies sight, tucking a strand behind his ear. The tension is thick, the silence simmering. Richie wants to melt into the floor.  
  
“You-uh, better go to the principals office,” Eddie offers, throwing the wet and bloodied tissues into the bin beside the counter.  
  
“Right,” Richie says, turning to leave, a hand on the door.  
  
“Richie,” Eddie says, pulling himself off of the counter top.  
  
Richie looks back towards the boy, face sullen and bruising already.  
  
“Thank you,” he says, a tight lipped smile on his face. Eddies cheeks are pink, he scratches the back of his head and looks away from Richie.  
  
Richie smiles, leaving the restroom and setting off down the hallway.

-

It’s 8:43 when Richie climbs out his bedroom window, a human shaped lump of pillows left in his bed.

He’d been grounded of course, naturally the principal had phoned his mother and had a stern word with her. He’d had an earful from his mom and he was sent to bed at 8pm after tea. His sister wore a shit eating grin all night. 

It was completely dark out around this time of year, so Richie had decided on his black jeans and a soft dark green jumper. He wanted to go unnoticed, slip in and out.

Jumping off from the shed roof, Richie stays low and finds his bike resting against the front of the house. Guiding it a little away from the houses view, he mounts it and begins to pedal to a familiar bushy threshold. Flicking on his headlight he slowly bikes down the dirt trodden pathway, the trees whispering and brushing his elbows.

When he’s found The Barrens, he ditches his bike in the clearing, unclipping the headlight and holding it up to inspect the area.

There’s a small green pond, a makeshift dam in the shallow side of it. A few large boulders surrounding the area and a a sewer grate entrance that sits with its mouth open. Its rusted and mossy, a stench clouding its doorway. 

Richie breaks eye contact with it, shoving the niggling feeling of discomfort deep down. There’s a spot beside the pond, a haphazardly covered hatch in the ground. A few dead leaves trying to hide it, and badly.

Striding over towards the hatch, Richie leans down, tugging the heavy wooden trapdoor with ease. It opens and falls back onto the pile of damp and dead leaves with a heavy thump. Lowering himself into the bunker, Richie reaches up to the lightswitch on the wall and snaps it on. 

The light flickers with a struggle until its steady and dim, Richie hauls the hatch closed and steps down the remaining few bars. Turning, he’s met with the stage of his nightmare. The hammock sits lonely, a dusty maroon velvet armchair sitting neatly in the corner, a blanket over its arm. There’s a dark oak desk with scattered pages of sketches, a picture leaning against the wall for support. A beam of wood stands in the centre of the room, holding up the hammock and the ceiling. At the foot of it is a plastic crate filled with comic books, a nail that’s been hammered into the pole dons a boyish coat. 

By the door, Richie notices, is a small rusted tin box on a shelf. Peering into it, Richie recognises a few shower caps with plenty of different floral designs. The shelves, with all kinds of odd trinkets and arcade tokens, is layered in the thinnest layer of dust. 

Richie decides that the Losers must still use this room quite often.

Walking over to the desk, Richie stares at the image displayed. All of The Losers standing in The Barrens, Richies arm is thrown over a youthful looking Eddie. His face has been covered with black tape. Richie sighs. Tearing his view from the photo and down at the sketches. 

There are plenty of sketches taped to the wooden wall above the framed image, but the half finished ones on the desk catch his eye.

His glasses. Cracked and caked with blood, the unmistakeable tape around the bridge. Then another, a darker and harshly sketched image. It’s a man, the same thick rimmed glasses on his face, his face is screwn up in a painful cry, tears staining his cheeks. He’s staring down at something or someone, and there’s a pretty ginger woman at his side, pulling on his arm, tears of her own flowing.

Richie drops the paper, so immersed in the sketches that he didn’t hear the hatch get torn open and quickly pulled shut once more. Blinking himself awake, Richie turns at the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the ladder.

“Bill, I thought-” Eddie stops in his tracks, bag falling from his shoulder. His brown eyes are blown open, his mouth slightly agape.

“What’re you doing here?” He says with a frown, he edges closer a little, forgetting his bag. 

Richie forces himself to turn away from the sketches, leaning against the desk. It’s rickety and stands against the wall but it holds his weight.

“I had to come back…” Richie trails, looking down at his hands. 

“To see if it was real, if it really happened,” He chokes, and his eyes are brimming but it’s hidden by the black curls that fall into his eyes. 

There’s a thick silence that hangs above them, a sad tension that grips them both.

Eddie doesn’t listen to the thoughts that jab at him, especially when Richie steals a glance at him. His eyes swimming, face red and wed with tears. He looks like a broken puppet, his strings are cut and he’s left slumped on the stage. 

Before Richie can get another work out, Eddie runs across the short distance, arms finding their way around the taller boys waist.

Richie in his shock, blinks away his tears and looks down at the brown curls, tentatively wrapping his arms around him. He rests his chin on Eddies head, squeezing the boy closer. He was warm, and Richie was numb, but his warmth helped him to feel again.

“I knew you wouldn’t stay away…” Eddie croaked into his chest. 

“Not if you knew,” he says sadly, Richies own jumper stained with tears. 

Richie holds him for a while longer, leant against the desk, simply being with him. 

Eddie pulls away, resting his hands on the sides of Richies arms.

“Let me do something,” He says with a look of determination.

“Don’t freak,” Richie stiffens when Eddie takes hold of the sides of his neck. Pushing himself up and onto his tiptoes, he brings his lips to Richies tear streaked cheeks. His kisses are soft, but they burn too. He peppers them on each of his cheeks, kissing away every salty tear. Richie sighs into his hold, hands finding his hips. 

He’s not wearing those obscenely short shorts any more, instead he’s chosen black skinnies and a dorky star wars tee. 

Eddie pulls away, finally, after what felt like forever. His touch set fire to his skin, his scent smothering, a mix of deodorant and soil. Surprisingly musky and boyish. 

“We need to talk,” Eddie says, hands dropping from Richie, he turns and walks over to his bag. Finding a garishly large walkie talkie, pulling the antenna out and pressing down the button.

“Guys, we’ve got a code red, meet at the Clubhouse ASAP.”

Eddie sets down the walkie and stares at me from across the room. An estranged feeling of nostalgia creeps up Richies skin, a forgotten feeling of belonging resting in his chest like it used to.


End file.
